Bubble Calm

People cheered loudly, clamoring over the other as a fighter pummeled his fist into the bloodied, nearly broken face of his opponent. Blood splattered over on the sand, hidden away by the dust that was kicked up. The seats were full and the lights bright enough just for the stage and the upper seating. There stood a nonchalant man, leaning on the rails with crossed burly arms looking at the fight with disdain. His eyes seemed heavy and defined by dark circles.

There was no one on the upper floors, save for a group of old men dressed in old clothes, seemingly asleep. From behind approached a man in a white suit and a pink shirt with a silk blue tissue in his breast pocket. He had short greyed hair atop his head and many wrinkles on his sweaty face that reeked of sweat and greed. He stood beside the burly armed man resting on the railing, catching his breath. Looking down at the fighter standing up with his hands in the air and a victorious smile on his face, he smiled. Putting his hands in his pocket, he pulled out a wad of green bills.

He tossed it towards the ring, landing smack dab in front of the fighter, who looked up. He nodded at the fighter, flashing a thumbs up. The fighter nodded and picked up the bundle, turning around and spitting on the downed opponent. His breathing had ceased. The fighter limped over to the exit and walked off alone as people cheered his performance.

"How much?"

The suit man kept his gaze on the audience as he let out a long breath. He spoke,

"Twenty."

The burly man turned to look at him. With a questioning look,

"Thousand?"

The man in the white suit chuckled, holding his hands together.

"Twenty million."

He looked at the man like lightning just flashed by. In less than a moment, he composed himself, taking a silent breath as he asked what everyone should,

"The catch?"

The white suit's eyes looked down at the audience, slowly piling out of their seats, heading towards the exits. His hands clasped together tighter, knuckles whitening.

"He's being hunted, Marcus."

Marcus breathed out, utterly annoyed but used to having to play the 'pronoun game'.

"By who?"

The man in the white suit remained silent. He hadn't moved from his spot an inch, something keeping him in place. Marcus gazed over at him and lightly touched his arm.

"Boss."

"Hm?"

He finally responded, snapping out of thought. Blinking his eyes a couple times, he turned to face Marcus, sharply inhaling.

"Yes?"

"Who?"

He sighed. Looking straight into Marcus' eyes, he knew what would happen if he answered. And yet...

"The Demoness."

"I'm not taking it."

He sighed, turning away, leaning back on the railing, arms resting atop it. Nonchalantly, he looks to the ceiling and spoke with authority,

"You don't have a choice."

Marcus stepped away to face the white suit. He crossed his arms and looked straight at him.

"Charlie, the dog is destined to die. I cannot help that."

Charlie chuckled, utterly amused.

'So this is what it means… to be revered.'

Charlie stood up straight, belching loudly to the side before he grabbed Marcus' arms, making him squirm. He laughed loudly, echoing around the now empty cavern. Marcus was used to it.

"And we have the opportunity for twenty fucking million. Think Marcus, think. Twenty. With an 'M'. For Marcus. It's got your blood all over it."

Marcus looked with a strained face at Charlie. This was the first time he'd seen him act this… 'desperate', for any sum of cash. Something else was afoot.

"...The Demoness huh."

"Yeah."

Charlie let go of Marcus' arms, seeing the gears turn in his mind.

"What did he do?"

"Stole something, killed someone, who gives a fuck?"

He answered exasperatedly.

"You should."

A look of disdain flashed across Charlie's face for a moment, quickly disappearing as he voiced out his thoughts immediately, waving his hands in Marcus' face.

"Aha, I am not doing what I should. What's new?"

Charlie stepped back, his white suit fluttering. His hands went to his face, holding his chin, back facing Marcus. A moment after, he turned around, opening his arms wide with a grin on his face,

"Twenty million. There, now that's new."

Marcus was now convinced something else was afoot. He could ask but.. Even he was interested in the one being hunted by the Demoness.

"Where?"

Charlie nonchalantly waved his hands, looking across the cavern. He spoke without concern,

"Just to the sea and then it's done."

Suddenly, as if remembering something, Charlie bounced forward on his heels, clasping Marcus again.

"Here's the best part! You get to…"

He urged Marcus on, as if playing a guessing game.

"Sleep?"

"A helicopter!"

"A helicopter?"

Marcus echoed.

"It's twenty million, we can splurge."

Marcus shook his head, looking around as the lights closed off. Some people came out to clean up after the audience had left, holding many trash bags. There was another group that budded off, heading towards the sandy center stage, picking up bits and pieces of people to dispose of. Marcus inquired further,

"And my loadout?"

"Whatever you need."

"What I want."

He said, turning to Charlie.

"Not risking this one, Marcy boy. You'll take what you need."

He sighed.

'Well, he hasn't lost his mind… yet.'

"Mhm. You never give money."

Charlie looked to Marcus for a moment, wondering what he was prattling on about. Then he remembered and then clicked his tongue. He began to walk away, back how he came as he answered,

"Yeah, he was awful. Now he's out of my sight."

Marcus rested himself on the railing, his bulging arms crossing over again. He almost shouted out loud,

"And the money?"

Charlie chuckled a low laugh, muttering to himself,

"You worry too much."

Marcus knew.

The fighter didn't reach home that night.

-----

Niz Rika

A black bag gets ripped off of Niz' face, revealing cuts, bruises and a still bloody nose, annoyed expression on his face. His eyes seem fine, a little watery. He looks around, seeing the room and the 'Demoness' before him, surrounded by her men. To him, the room is much nicer, with its wooden walls, complexly simple paintings and warm lighting. Very welcoming, unlike the figure before him. He breathes in before he begins,

"You motherfu- no wait, that would be giving you too much credit, hmm.."

The 'Demoness' waves her hand at the rest of them.

"Leave us."

They turn around and leave, footsteps tapping away at the white marble floor. Niz looks up as he spat out blood on the floor.

"So now what, you're gonna shoot me for stealing your man?"

The 'demoness' doesn't bother as she walks around Niz. She comes around to his right side as she spoke,

"He was not my man. He was my right hand."

Immediately, she grabs his bound hand and pulls out a machete from behind the chair. She raises it above her head,

"And I am going to take yours."

Niz panicked.

"Wait wait wait!"

"What?"

"...Perhaps we can come to an arrangement?"

She lets go of his hand, coming back to stand before him, machete resting on the back of her neck. She turned around, walking forward a bit as she asks,

"What do you have to offer?"

"I…uhh… hold on."

The ropes holding Niz fell away. He stepped up, making Rika turn.

"Hm? S-stay back."

She pointed her machete at him but he continued approaching, as if it wasn't there.

"What is…"

He walked right up to her face, the machete poking into his neck. His expression remained the same unchanged one. Rika looked at his gaze as he peered into her eyes.

"Is there… something on my face?"

"Your eyes."

The grip on her machete tightened. What game was he playing...

"Huh? You have... a pair as well?"

"No but…"

His hand moved towards her face but her other hand moved, her coat parting, showing the barrel end of a gun pointed at his gut.

"Sit down before I put lead in you."

"But-"

"Sit down."

"...Fine."

Niz steps back as he sits down, more annoyed at not getting to do what he was about to do than the gun pointed at him.

"So. you dodged my question."

"Ah what was it?"

"What do you have that compensates my right hand?"

"Well... "

Niz comically looks around the empty room. He looks at the doors and squints before he leans forward a bit, remaining silent. Rika takes a couple steps forward, gun in hand. Niz leans a bit more, Rika mirroring his actions. She is now just a foot away from his face when she asks,

"Well?"

Both remain silent. Finally, Niz speaks,

"I could… fuck your brains out."

"Ugh."

Rika had enough. She stuck the gun to the bottom of his face.

"That's it, I want your blood."

"I have plenty other fluids to give though."

"That's it! You're dead!"

She bangs the gun on to his face, his entire body jerking to the side. She immediately raises it back again at him.

"Owhahohoo…"

Niz laughs quietly. Rika smacks him again on the same cheek. Niz cried out,

"Ah god! I think you got blood."

"And more!"

She raises her hand to hit him when he raises a finger, face turned away. She pauses. He turned to face her and asks,

"More fluids?"

The demoness had become akin to a demon. Her entire face was red with anger, knuckles whitened from how tightly she balled one fist and gripped the gun with the other. Never had someone dared to be like this in her presence, not even her own right hand… up until this guy came along. She had had enough.

"Fuck you!"

Niz smiles.

"If you'd please."

The door opens, taking both their attentions. Niz was about to grab the gun from her but he saw a rifle pointed straight at him as a woman walked in nonchalantly. She briskly stepped towards Rika and pulled her aside. Rika looks at her quizzically.

"I'm-"

"It's happening."

She interrupts. Rika gives her a look of unending rage but it was worlds different from the one she had just been showing to Niz. She takes a deep breath, her fingers going numb. The woman holds the rifle besides Rika, shooting a deadly look to Niz, who was busy pulling out a bloody broken tooth from his mouth, more red blood dripping out onto the floor in front of him. Rika turned around, the calm and cool demeanor she once held having returned. An expression of looking down upon Niz defined her face. He felt uncomfortable, squirming a bit but the rifle kept him in position.

Rika had enough. She pats the woman's shoulder as she walks away.

"Take him away. Or lock him in here."

Niz sputters,

"What about food? Sunlight?"

The woman steps forward, placing the rifle at his crotch, her eyes not moving away from his face. Niz puts his hands by his face. She glares at him.

"Motherfucker."